


Cycle of the Dragon

by BaffledQueen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Brotherly Love, Dragons, Gen, Hanzo Needs a Helping Hand, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Mutual Pining, Self-Sacrifice, excessive imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaffledQueen/pseuds/BaffledQueen
Summary: "My bow is ineffectual, here," he grouses, reaching for another arrow. A thrilling mixture of irritation and fear explodes in him like a firecracker when he feels only one more arrow in his quiver. Without saying a word, Hanzo slings Stormbow across his back and lets out a shuddering breath. It's stupid- he had known that this would happen. There was no way that it wouldn't."Genji," he rasps as loudly as he can, and his without pause his brother unslings the second sword, Hanzo's sword, and deftly tosses it to him. It's heavy in his hands, profanely familiar. Brought here just for this.





	

"Genji, down!" Hanzo barks, drawing the bowstring. Just like when they were boys, calling out to each other in the heat of battle. _This_ is the sort of thing they were trained for. His brother drops obediently, just in time for an arrow to go soaring through where his chest had been just seconds before. It sinks deep into the throat of a downed Talon agent, one who'd been rising to his knees to kill Genji. With a huff, his brother decapitates a Talon agent behind him, sending some quip or another his way. Hanzo snorts in amusement, whirling when the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Without skipping a beat he drives a knife down into a woman's collar, twisting harshly before pulling it free. She drops her weapon with a gasp, stumbling back, and Hanzo kills her before she can retaliate. He turns again, eyes roving over the battlefield. 

They are hopelessly outnumbered, thought not necessarily outgunned. All he can see is Talon, as far as the horizon. This is their last stand, after all. Several of the world's armies are here with Overwatch, just to take down the final Talon stronghold. Genji launches forward, just that little bit further from him, and buries his weapon into an enemy's gut before dodging a fist aimed for his jaw. Another Talon agent manages to hit his brother in the back with their rifle, fumbling with the safety as Genji recovers. Hanzo bursts forward, feet rending deep furrows in the earth, and tackles the agent. Both of them sprawl to the dirt, writhing and spitting like cats, and Hanzo lands two punches to the man's face before he's forced off by another agent. 

The new attacker aims a kick for his chest, sending him sprawling before crumpling to the ground as Genji cuts him neatly in half. "Alright, Hanzo?" he asks in their native language, pulling him up by one hand as he punches the next opponent in the temple with the other. Hanzo grunts, bow twanging as his feet meet the ground once more- the arrow splits, injuring a pack of enemies that a few stray allies finish off. "My bow is ineffectual, here," he grouses, reaching for another arrow. A thrilling mixture of irritation and fear explodes in him like a firecracker when he feels only one more arrow in his quiver. Without saying a word, Hanzo slings Stormbow across his back and lets out a shuddering breath. It's stupid- he had known that this would happen. There was no way that it wouldn't.

"Genji," he rasps as loudly as he can, and his without pause his brother unslings the second sword, _Hanzo's_ sword, and deftly tosses it to him. It's heavy in his hands, profanely familiar. Brought here just for this. This time, the shudder is fully physical. For a minute, the sounds of war- gunfire, explosions, yells, death- are drowned with metal on metal, blade on flesh, brother on brother. He can hear them both yelling in his mind's eye, and his whole body tenses. And then he snaps back into the present, Genji shoving him down. "Brother," he soothes, and Hanzo grunts again. He can do this, he _must_ do this. They rise together, twin blades- one for each son on his fifteenth birthday- and for the first time in decades they raise their blades in defense of each other. Hanzo is an excellent bowman; his sharp eyes see all, and that is sometimes a hard truth. Hanzo is an excellent bowman, but he was ten times the swordsman. He made it look like a dance, fluid and deadly.

His brother was an infinitely better at martial arts- a source of pride in their boyhood- and in all honesty Genji was his only match in stealth. But Hanzo, Hanzo was bowman and swordsman in one. When all else failed, he retreated to the things he was best at. The sword is heavy in his hands, familiar in comforting and repulsive ways alike. It fairly surges to life in his hands, a mind of its own, seeking blood in atonement for Genji's shed upon it. Like some ancient terror, some god of war, Hanzo cuts paths through swathes of enemies- blood spattering his every inch. Genji makes excellent progress as well, defending his back as the struggle towards cover in a nearby building. McCree is there, and Tracer, waiting to regroup and plan their next move.

This is the sort of fight that lasts until nightfall, the sort that goes down in history as bloody and brutal. The stench of blood and death sear his nose and sit heavy in his lungs, but Hanzo moves forward. He is an unstoppable force. And then an immovable object blocks his path. A true mountain of a man dressed in all black, dark eyed and heavy set, connects a blow to the side of Hanzo's head, sending him tumbling. He rolls to his feet with the skill of a master, brandishing his sword, and Genji hurls some of his shuriken. Several of them bury themselves into the meat of the enemy's arm, and the man hisses. When Hanzo goes to land the killing blow, he gets swatted away like a child. With an angry cry, Hanzo lunges again and lops the offending limb clean off.

His opponent howls like an animal, now-lonely hand coming up to grasp the stump, and Genji lands the killing blow with his own sword. "Pretty _handy_ trick, hey brother?" Genji prods, and Hanzo can hear the laugh in his voice. Hanzo rolls his eyes, and then his whole body as he dodges out of the way of a storm of bullets- something he's lifted off of Jesse. Unfortunately, he sways dizzily for a few seconds. Genji laughs at him- "somersaults, brother?" He scowls darkly, pouting dramatically as he kills two more. There's a pause between their banter, so that they can focus on a few truly pesky opponents, and then it's right back to it. "Oh yes, I thought I'd learn something about acrobatics, since I'm sending you to live with the circus. Might as well have something to talk about at family dinners," Hanzo retorts.

Genji startles, rearing back even as he dodges behind a shell of a tank to avoid some gunfire himself. "Hanzo! That was a _joke!_ _"_ There's surprise in his voice, and laughter, and Hanzo watches his brother's faceplate slide open just so Genji can gawp at him in amazement. "Oh, really," Hanzo says drily, "I had no idea." His brother laughs, shoulders shaking with it. "Woah!" Genji shouts, throwing himself away from a grenade and tumbling into a graceful roll in time to pop up and drive his sword through an enemy's stomach. With an agonizing yank, Genji turns his head. "I didn't know you even knew what jokes _were_ , Hanzo!" Hanzo's head tips back to laugh, and he sees her just a bit too late. Genji's laughter cuts off abruptly, a tiny grunt. An 'oof', almost.

His brother crumples to the ground in silence, and Hanzo hears nothing else. The world is drowned out by the sound of rushing waves, Hanzo's eyes locked to Genji's still body. There's a smile on his face, in death, and a hole where his left eye should be, and he is so very _red_.  He blinks slowly, time moving like syrup as he processes what he's seeing. And then, lips trembling, Hanzo shudders with rage and horror- something white-hot and furious builds in his chest like a star in supernova. It's a pressure building in his chest, power like fire on an ocean of confusion and hate. It burns like fire, from the pit of his belly and into his throat. A wordless _roar_ tears from his throat, and Hanzo's world explodes in a myriad of colors.

And then his arm is burning from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder- light, heat, power, and purpose bursting forth. It's a cyclone of color and passion, beautiful and morbid, and Hanzo sits at the eye of a storm. Talon's best agents are shredded by a veritable hoard of Dragons- more then anyone had ever thought of- the Shimada clan's entire history enfolds before them in a macabre dance. The noise is incomprehensible, a sensory overload from the very beginning. At first the sounds of war- gunfire, explosions, death- broke through, but the roaring quickly over came it. All he can hear, all he can see, is destruction. Bloody justice, painted with terrified wails and unearthly roars. Hanzo trembles with pain and sorrow, smoke curling from his arms and his mouth, a swathe of devastated terrain surrounding him.

The eye of the storm passes. Suddenly a whole host of dragons whirl about him, their duties fulfilled. The Widowmaker's rifle is brought to him a slim purple dragon- her hand still attached. She is dead, they promise him with sugar-sweet voices. His whole body shudders, utterly spent. Hanzo looks around and sees only death. This isn't even half of the army, maybe merely a thousand or so men, but the field is littered with them. Only his allies remain, but they are so very far away. Angela will not arrive in time to save his brother this time. And, once again, it is all Hanzo's fault. He is hoarse from that scream of base fury, from the ghastly shrieks he'd made within that perfect storm, lips staining red as he coughs. The taste, the scent of rust overwhelms him.

Even now he can't tear his eyes away from Genji's fallen form, one eye a bloody mess and the other glazed in the way that only the dead can manage. His brother is still smiling that goofy smile of their youth, and the ghost of his grin chases the stinging pains away. His arm is still smoking, tattoo curling with steam- the flesh is irritated beyond belief, pins and needles moving like fire ants beneath his skin. Hanzo chokes on a whine, trying to tear his eyes away. Anything but this. It should never have been Genji. Genji was supposed to live a long, happy life whether or not Hanzo was in it. Genji was supposed to have a bright future, and a huge family that adored him, and everything the world could possibly offer. Anything but this.

Talon is leveled, and somewhere far away he hears Jesse calling out for him. His voice is distant and frantic, but it's a balm to Hanzo's weary heart. Another regret. There are so many things he should have said, should have done. He should have made the move, should have kissed the cowboy, should have... He should have. Innumerable dragons encircle him, a cyclone of sleek bodies, silent as the breath of night. A violent rainbow, washed out and ever-bright simultaneously. Other. An echo of Genji's laughter sounds in his ears, and Hanzo cries out from the very pit of his being. It's a great, wretched sound, like a lost little boy and an ancient man all in one. Hurt and regret, sorrow and fear. Hanzo knows what comes, what the price is, and he is so very afraid.

At the sound of his voice the storm implodes, dozens upon hundreds of dragons in all sizes and hues darting inward. The dragon consumes- all ask a grizzly price for their summoning. A sacrifice, a pound of flesh. Hanzo is no longer his own.  An all too familiar green one swirls gently about his head like a halo or a crown, comforting him ever so briefly. His own twin dragons rumble approvingly- their brother avenged. Hanzo closes his eyes as a searing heat and a burning cold envelope him at once, opening them to a burning rainbow of colors. The price, once paid, is agony. He had never known, never imagined pain like this. It is completely beyond anything he has ever even thought a body could feel. They _rend_ him. 

He is broken apart like a ship awash on the reefs of old. The dragon consumes, furious and somehow peaceful. Pain and relief in equal measure. A tempest. A fury. Hanzo opens his mouth and laughs once. He has paid the price in blood and tears. It was worth it. All of this was worth it and more. Genji is at least avenged. Genji. His brother. He had sworn to protect him the very moment his father had put the baby in his arms, a cooing bundle of blankets. Even then he was a ball of sunshine. Hanzo had sworn, the solemn vow of innocence, to protect his brother. And he had failed, first when he had raised his own hand against him, and now again. Genji is dead, but at least he is avenged. But his chest feels like it's caving in.

Rubies spill from his mouth, the dragon's most precious hoard, fat drops of wealth staining the earth. This is the price he has paid for honor, an honor more then his own. A wealth of red, precious and invaluable, pouring like raindrops from his mouth. His breath rattles in his chest. The heavens open, a single patch of merry blue as the colors converge with painful brilliance. His eyes burn from the light, tears welling up like a flood. He hasn't cried since he was a little boy, hasn't dared seem weak in the slightest. Not while in the Shimada house. On the balcony with Genji he had been close, so very close to tipping over the edge. But not quite. Not quite. The burn had been there, but the release. Not quite. Hanzo was not ready then.

"Peace, beloved one," one of his dragons rumbles in his chest, the first they have spoken to him in 11 years long, soothing and deep. Hanzo laughs again, beautiful and agonizing. This is the price. Summoning even his own two would have been a high one, but to summon all of them? Hanzo fears that he is not enough to pay it. Ah, but he is willing at least. Anything for Genji, for the brother he failed to defend both now and then. The dragons dive into him, in an order he does not understand, and they take their payment. As is their right. His fingers have disappeared, half of his arms. So much ash in the wind- a dragon's fill. They take him apart in great strips, grizzly and righteous, destroying the destroyer.

Hanzo sobs, and now countless glittering diamonds spill forth, some 39 years worth of them, a wealth unmeasurable. An unimaginable cost. Years of pain, of fear, love, laughter- years of life are shimmering within the diamonds, and these too he offers. To protect the living. The dragons take even these from him. He collapses to the ground as his chest caves, lips trembling as a great dragon of old steals his heart for his price. It _hurts_. He had known that the dragons took, but the pain was less before. It hurts, and he is so utterly alone. And that hurts too. Because this battlefield is empty, now, the Talon agents decimated and Overwatch's allies moved to a new battleground to assist the war effort. And there is silence, like a shroud, over the earth. 

And then a voice like a chorus of angels sounds- _"Hanzo!"_

Jesse.

Hanzo feels his hands, no longer his own, stretch out ever so briefly. His fingers twitch, and his lips quirk just the slightest bit. If only, he thinks bitterly, _if only_. There was so much he wanted to say to that voice, the chiefest of which being 'I'm sorry,' but there wasn't enough time. There never was enough time. Death is looming ever nearer. He can feel it tugging at his edges, unraveling him at the seams, cold and unfeeling. And out of nowhere, he remembers his mother. "Death be not proud," she would say as she lay dying of an unknown disease, "For even death shall die." And here, now, he understands her serenity. But he is so _angry_. There is so much he _wanted_ , for Genji and for himself. Life is unfair, he wants to scream, there should have been _more_.

Instead he lays wheezing for breath as the purple dragon swallows his lungs. It is their right, after all. They have all done him a service. His body remains, stilling as the dragons satiate themselves with a life, a body willingly given. Though they take, his physical body is unaltered- save for the burns all up his arm from casting the dragons. Though they take, there will at least be a body to bury. They have taken the ideas, yes, and the function. Taken every action done with purpose in his life, every memory of learning or pain is theirs. And in return they leave his body. A sign of respect. His father's body had remained after death. A curious thing, considering. Hanzo's chest spasms painfully. Even now it feels like his nerves are on fire. He will die here, he knows this.

A feeble breath rattles his chest like a cage of bones, and Hanzo rolls his head to the side. Genji lies, broken and limp beside him. One of the dragons- Genji's, maybe, or his own- has brought him nearer. Hanzo can feels his eyes burning, but he knows what comes when he closes them- and so he doesn't dare blink. Every second is precious, now, and again he understands his mother. "Please, _please_ , my _brother_ " he pleads, _begs_ , before a trio of soft yellow beasts steal his voice for their own, " _Anything_ for my brother."  _I_ _hear_ , a great booming voice sounds within him, _and I will grant you this_. _The price is_ All. The sheer force of that voice, the weight of it, rattles his bones. Hanzo shivers. "I will pay it," he whispers, gentle and afraid. And for that fear, the reward is greater.

And Hanzo Shimada pays. He pays for the promise he made his newborn brother, for the baby he dotingly hauled around in weak arms, for the toddler that loved him above all else. He pays for the sweet little boy who wanted to be just like his big brother, and for that little boy most of all. Hanzo Shimada pays for the boy who dared to be himself in a world that did not allow for it, for teenage rebellion and irritating hair. He pays for the brother he betrayed, and the brother he regained- for the man who forgave him. Already he has paid for justice and vengeance, paid for balance. Hanzo has given everything that he has, save for this. But now he will give up this last thing he has, for this. For Genji Shimada, the boy who deserved more.

His eyes are taken. His ears deafened. His breath stutters. He aches beyond aching, limbs pulled close for the barest of comforts. It is _painful_ , truly painful. Hanzo willingly spills forth the last of his wealth; diamonds and rubies, yes, but now also sapphires and quartz. Dragon and soul desert a body no longer his own. This is the price he pays. The tempest dissipates. All of the writhing bodies have taken their fill, according to seniority. Each and all blink into nothing, into another world, and Hanzo lays on the rent earth cold and still. Genji is with him, even still, Hanzo's fingertips brushing his own. Finally able to reach them, Jesse wails like a broken thing. A flickering green dragon trails lazy figure 8's above the Shimadas.

Jesse hits his knees, stares. Angela hiccoughs by his side, before bursting into tears and turning away- flitting across the deserted field to rejoin the rest of Overwatch for the final stand. But Jesse stays to remember a man that the world is sure to forget. And then there is a tiny noise. A tiny thump, and a little pitter-patter. "Han... zo?" a child asks from Jesse's side, head tilted and lip quivering. "I don't understand." Jesse turns his head in disbelief, wishing and wanting and regretting. His lip trembles, his hands twitch- a soft golden ribbon tied tightly about one wrist. Even from here, he can see a matching strip from his serape tied to Stormbow. If only. "Genji?" he breathes, confusion and hope in one. The boy looks up at him with wide amber eyes, shock of black hair bouncing.

"Jesse... what?"

**Author's Note:**

> I feel... malevolent. Sorry family. Also, to clarify, Hanzo let the head dragon swallow his soul as the price in exchange for Genji's life. And now he has to grow up again, because Hanzo paid 'for the sweet little boy who wanted to be just like his big brother, and for that little boy most of all.' Always be clear on what you mean, Hanzo dear. Especially when making deals for your soul. At least he still has his memories, sort of.


End file.
